


Schism

by plastic_cello



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastic_cello/pseuds/plastic_cello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Agent Sitwell, you never show your weaknesses to your enemy. They'll only use them against you. Haven't you learned anything yet?" Pierce tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. "Besides, I have plans for him. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. It'll take more than a god and an alien army to take him away from me. Mark my words."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schism

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_touch_the_phlebotinum/gifts).



> The sheer joy I felt on writing Alexander Pierce and Rumlow is kind of weird.

"It would be a harrowing mission for anyone else, but not for you." The older man had slipped his wrinkled, age-worn hands into the pockets of his waistcoat. "It's a simple execution, really. STRIKE will assist you, but do try and not cause too many unnecessary deaths. There are some good men abroad the aircraft; it would be a shame to cripple SHIELD's defenses this early on."

The words held very little in terms of an emotional response. It was unnecessary babble that soon led to a thin folder being placed in his hands by another man with thick spectacles, who smiled slyly as if he had any authority to be cocky. If under his own reflexes, he would have broken the glasses and the face behind them.

"We cannot afford for that helicarrier to be damaged beyond repair. It's imperative that you use caution while infiltrating it. And like I said before, there are some good men onboard that I rather not see perish. Do you understand?"

With a jerky movement of his head, he confirmed that he indeed understood. His mission was simple; he would need to slip into the aircraft, ensure very few casualties, and retrieve the asset hidden in the bowels of the ship. Inside the folder were all the details in full; he would study them when he was temporarily left to his own devices.

Distantly, he knew this was the protocol. He met with the older man, would receive his orders, study the dossier, and would be prepped for his mission. The ghost sensation of a rifle or an uzi in his hands was always there. It felt peculiar when he was weaponless and defenseless. He didn't like it.

"Sitwell, escort the Asset for prep once he finishes overlooking the file. Rumlow will be expecting him at twenty-three hundred hours. The jet will leave soon thereafter; we need him in and out as soon as possible."

"Of course, Secretary Pierce,"

"This is the first step, Soldier." The older man drew near, before setting a heavy hand onto his bare and cold shoulder. "We're about to reshape history once again. Don't let me down."

Despite the calmness in which the older man spoke to him, he knew his words shouldn't be taken lightly. It was ingrained into his psyche that there would be dire consequences if he failed in his mission. Death was not one of them, though. Which he supposed would be terrifying, if he could remember how to feel anything beyond a sense of purpose.

*

"I don't know, Rumlow. This sounds pretty crazy."

"Secretary Pierce knows what he's doing, Rollins. And if anyone can pull off the impossible it's this guy over here." The man with the humorless eyes said, while adjusting the listening device into his ear casually. "We'll be his backup while he gets what we need."

"Still fucking crazy if you ask me,"

"Yeah, well no one asked you. You just started flapping your lips."

"So you tell me genius, what'll happen if we lose the Asset? Will Pierce be all that understanding then?" The other man beside the one named Rumlow asked. "He'll kill us, you know."

"He wouldn't." Rumlow said tersely. "Not right away anyway. So we need to be on our toes. Try and kill as little as possible, but if it means protecting the Asset then he'll understand."

The Asset appeared to be his codename. They called him little else; they hardly even acknowledged him. They feared him, although Rumlow seemed strangely at ease with him. He wasn't bothered by his presence. Maybe it was because a leader couldn't be frightened by a member of his team. But he felt little camaraderie for the men around him; in fact, he could kill them all and feel nothing.

The men around him busily armed themselves. They loaded their weapons, readjusted their body armor and bulletproof vests, checked and rechecked their communication systems until they were fully satisfied. Rumlow proved to be meticulous despite his appearance.

Once they finished their preparations, the nine man team sat down to wait for their arrival. They were flying above the Atlantic, three hundred miles, maybe farther, away from the coast. The helicarrier should be within distance very soon.

"Approaching target now," the pilot called from the cockpit.

"You heard him boys; look alive." Rumlow grabbed the gun between his legs and stood. "You too, Winter. You'll be leading the charge."

That deviated from his purported codename, but he knew Rumlow was talking to him. So he stood alongside the rest of the unit with his M203 in hand. It would do quite a bit of damage to anyone who got in his way. He wouldn't hesitate to fire either.

The jet descended underneath their feet, before the hatch seamlessly opened. Cool air rushed into the jet's interior, but no one flinched away. Everyone was focused on the mission in front of them and the leap that they would need to make in order to infiltrate the carrier.

He didn't hesitate to jump from the edge of the hatch onto the narrow walkway hidden underneath the underbelly of the helicarrier. The sound of his feet on the grating was masked by the howl of the wind and purr of the jet's engine, but that didn't mean he went unnoticed by any means.

Several yards away an operative stood at attention with his own gun at the ready. Before the man could inform anyone of their attack, he lifted his weapon and pulled the trigger. He struck his target, right between the eyes, and watched briefly as he fell into a lifeless heap.

"Go, go, go," Rumlow was suddenly shouting as the unit leapt onto catwalk behind him.

He too took the order to heart, and rushed forward to where there was a door into the helicarrier. He leapt over the guard's dead body and heard the loud clank of steel-toed boots on the grating behind him. Someone shot their gun and from his peripheral, he saw a black shadow speed past him into a freefall.

Within moments, the door came into view. No one was stationed outside of it, which Pierce had detailed to the unit. Rumlow had spoken about it and he absorbed the information rather quickly. He knew within there would be two men at the ready though and it was up to STRIKE to neutralize the threat as he sprinted past them. His arsenal of weaponry was meant for a greater foe, and he was told he would need almost all of it.

Once he approached the door, he grabbed onto the door handle and pulled. It was locked, but that meant very little to him. He grasped the handle harder in his artificial hand, exerting a level of strength that came naturally to him.

The metal groaned like a dying man, which only made him pull harder. Soon he saw progress as the door bent outward and finally flew off the hinges. The men behind him advised one another to duck just as he threw the door behind him and over the edge of the catwalk.

There wasn't a moment of hesitation on his part. He rushed inside the helicarrier and was met by two baffled men, who barely lifted the guns before they were shot by whoever was quick enough to do so. Instinct told him it was Rumlow, though.

Only sparing that thought a split-second, he mounted the small staircase that led farther into the helicarrier. He ran down the narrow passageway that eventually expanded into far more breathable spaces. But he made sure to hug the wall and try to keep out of the camera's range.

STRIKE would handle the surveillance problem. His only true incentive was to locate and procure the item that his handlers had wanted. The details weren't of his concern, although he was to use caution all the same.

The layout of the helicarrier had been ingrained into his brain. Every time he shut his eyes, he could see the blueprint laid out in front of him. So he found the infiltration to be an easy feat to maneuver through, even when he was met by an alarmed guard or two that he demobilized with a well-calculated hit from either his hand or foot.

Casualties needed to be low. He reminded himself of that whenever he came into contact with anyone. They had already eliminated four threats, which he presumed was four too many. But it would have been risky otherwise to let them live. There was very little room for them to pass in and out of the aircraft if they allowed those men to live.

Slipping through an empty corridor, he was feet within reach of his goal. Just as he stepped forward an alarm wailed and the lights flickered and turned red. STRIKE must have disabled the helicarrier's surveillance system already. And it was soon confirmed by a woman's monotonous voice.

"Operation system has been compromised. Operation system has been compromised."

"Winter," Rumlow's voice hissed into his ear. "You have thirty seconds before the fishbowl opens up. Keep the weapon inside the fishbowl. I repeat, keep him in the fishbowl! We're pulling back now! The retrieval team will be waiting for you. Good luck."

Once he heard that information, he hurried down the hallway and towards the formerly enforced door. No one had been left to guard the room, probably because they thought the containment cell was more than sufficient enough. Pierce had predicted as much; he supposedly knew Director Fury better than the man knew himself.

The door did not open with his approach, which was to be expected. So he gripped the side and yanked on it. It took at least ten seconds for it to give and retract into the wall, before revealing a large glass cell. Inside was what he had been looking for, although the grainy surveillance footage did little in terms of capturing the threat that it would pose to him.

His orders were clear. He needed to keep the weapon contained. It would take at least thirty more seconds for the operational system to go back online, and that's when he would have to use the remote that had been given to him by that weasel-like man called Sitwell.

Walking towards the cell, he lifted his M203 and watched with rapt attention as the weapon inside stared at him. A smile slowly formed on the weapon's face, but it did not move from the bench at the back of the cell.

The door whooshed open and he stepped inside. He pointed his gun at the weapon, while he reached into the pouch on his hip. It was ancient, but efficient, technology. Several operatives had unearthed a box of unused weaponry from the forties, and decided to test it to see if it was functional. The results, from what he had been told, had been remarkable.

Due to the threat posed by the weapon in front of him, HYDRA scientists had tweaked the item in his hand and made it five times more powerful than it was meant to be. He was told by Sitwell it was a muscular contractor and if it immobilized the weapon for the expected minute then he could accomplish his mission without any problem. But he had to time it properly in order to be successful.

"What do we have here? Are you a new jailer?" The weapon asked, before he stood to his full height.

He said nothing as his fingers closed around the muscular contractor and pulled it free. The contraption glowed green and hummed with electricity; it could kill any man if it was turned on them. It could kill him.

"Humans," the weapon laughed. "Do you think you can overthrow me with that?"

"Operational systems will be restored in the next ten seconds."

"Do you think you are a match for me?"

Operational systems will be restored in the next five seconds."

"How pathetic," the weapon chuckled and that's when he chose to strike.

Dropping his M203 to the ground, he dashed at the weapon which seemed to temporarily paralyze him which worked in his favor. He jammed the end of the muscular contractor against a bear portion of the weapon's neck and heard a loud crackle of electricity roar out of the contraption.

They stood almost flush against one another, before he let go of the item when the current suddenly began to backfire. The plates in his arm whined and shifted until his arm malfunctioned completely, becoming nothing more than a dead weight at his side. He tried, to no avail, to shake his arm and force it to move.

"Your attack was unsuccessful it seems." The weapon's arm shot out and grabbed him by the throat in a vicious hold. "I am a god not some lowly life form that could be compromised by something as archaic as that!"

"Operational systems are now fully restored." The robotic voice announced and the sound of the door shutting behind him was akin to a funeral dirge. But even as the oxygen was being stolen from his lungs, he used his fully functional arm to grab the remote from another one of his pouches.

The lights flickered from red to fluorescent and that's when he pressed the button. The floor suddenly opened up underneath the glass containment cell, revealing the darkness of night and undoubtedly churning waves of the Atlantic.

"What did you do?" The weapon demanded with a strong squeeze to his throat that left him completely breathless and caused spots to form in his vision.

Somewhere beyond the scope of his focus, he heard a yell from several different sources as the containment cell suddenly dropped into a freefall. The grasp on his throat loosened and it soon let go completely as the velocity of the fall overtook them.

Nothing could prepare someone for what transpired next. He struck the side of the cell, narrowly avoiding being hit by the M203 and the muscular contractor that volleyed from one point to the next. The weapon, better known as Loki Laufeyson, had also hit one end of the cell. But they didn't stay in one place for very long and neither went about unscathed by the gun either.

By some strike of luck, he got a hold of the gun just as the cell hit the surface of the water and plunged into the murky waters below. Everything went black around them, while his body was flung into Loki's at the bottom (or maybe the top) of the glass prison.

They lay immobile as they sunk deeper into the ocean. His breathing was labored and pained, and his arm weighed him down like a cement block. He wasn't worried, though. In some ways he should be; he had experienced worry before, yet it seemed like a distant memory. His mortality meant nothing to him.

"You fool!" Loki suddenly snarled, as deadly as a viper. "What have you done to me? I can't move!"

The muscular contractor seemed to have been effective, after all. Loki's biology must have been far different than the scientists had previously anticipated for. At least it had worked in the end, which would be useful just about…now.

The retrieval team had arrived at last, which was punctuated by a loud clang of metal on glass. He looked on either side of him to see mechanical arms secured around the width of the cell, before they were being dragged backwards through the choppy waters and eventually pulled into the belly of a highly sophisticated submarine.

Blackness was soon replaced by light and a mob of operatives with heavy machinery at their disposal. They worked with a precision and speed that only the best of technicians in the world could manage. He would have found it to be particularly relieving had he been programmed to feel much of anything.

Diligently, the operatives worked until they removed one side of the glass. But they got no further than that, before they were being pushed aside to reveal Secretary Pierce, his handler. Pierce rested an arm onto the top of the containment cell and peered inside with critical eyes, which could have been mistaken for grandfatherly concern if you were ignorant enough to believe it.

"Status report,"

"Mission successful,"

"Do you need medical assistance, Soldier?"

"Left arm no longer operational; the electrical shock from the muscular contractor immobilized it."

"Alongside our prized pig too, I see." Pierce smiled, but it wasn't sincere.

"What have you done to me?" Loki roared underneath him.

"Gentlemen, take the Asset to the technicians. As for our god here, use the elephant tranquilizer on him. Maybe he'll be a little more grateful on being rescued after he slept off the effects of Stark's toy."

Two burly men climbed into the cell as Pierce drew away, and managed to hoist him off the god beneath him; who was in the middle of a loud tirade. It soon came to an end, as another man toting a tranquilizer gun aimed inside the glass and leveled Loki with one shot.

He wondered, as he was carried away, if the god would truly be compliant after being taken captive by another faction of SHIELD. But he soon remembered himself and knew that that thought was beyond his level of expertise. He was only a soldier, after all. Others were the thinkers. He had simply accomplished his mission as he was meant to.

*

"I wouldn't recommend this, Mister Secretary."

"No one asked for your opinion, did they?"

"Well, no. But the Asset only survived by chance; it would be unwise to tempt fate again. Loki Laufeyson is truly a god."

"I'm aware of that. Unfortunately, we have had a failure to communicate. He doesn't respect us, but he might respect the man who had pulled off this impossible feat. Now transport the Asset into the same room. Leave them alone for an hour and we'll see what we can do."

"Laufeyson has broken the surveillance system. The cameras have been reduced to melted metal and wires."

"Give them some privacy then."

"But the Asset-"

"He served us well, but gentlemen we have a bona fide god now. Let the old world order end and the new chapter begin."

*

He had been stripped of his weaponry after the mission, and fiddled with by nameless men who finally corrected the problem with his arm. He was fully functional before the day was through, and transported alongside Secretary Pierce to an undisclosed location. That's when protocol failed him.

Rumlow and the rest of the STRIKE team had been waiting with a full report of the events on the helicarrier. They hadn't lost a single man, but the body count on SHIELD's end came to seven which none of them were proud of. But they weren't reprimanded, only congratulated for an operation well-done.

Pierce then ordered Rumlow, in his absence, to escort him to a cell. The why wasn't discussed in front of him, and he sensed the lack of cooperation on Rumlow's; regardless of the fact that he was in the midst of walking him down a hallway that was painted a dingy yellow-green.

"Fucking ridiculous," Rumlow muttered under his breath, as he directed him from behind with a hand on the crook of his elbow. "Not like an old beat-up car, you know; you can't upgrade after seventy years."

He had nothing to say in response. Rumlow wouldn't have expected an answer, even though they were not going by the script. Some things never changed. He found it easier to be consistent. Or maybe he didn't know anything else, which was more likely than not.

"Christ," Rumlow continued after half a beat. "I never question authority, but Pierce must be going senile. How can we control a fucking god? And I know he's messing with us now; he could easily get out of that room if he wanted to. It's only a matter of time before we're all dead meat."

This dialogue continued as they passed unmarked doors, and moved further and further away from the heart of HYDRA's base. Before long, they had turned several corners only to end up in front of a heavily enforced door with a retina display beside it. This ended up being their destination and for a brief moment, he felt a rebellious strike awaken inside of him.

Rumlow leaned towards the scanner, which produced a beep of approval soon thereafter. The door opened of its own accord to reveal a similar containment cell that had been on the helicarrier. Unlike the previous one though, there was bars that encircled the enclosure that Rumlow opened with a rusty skeleton key.

Loki watched them with a vicious snarl on his lips, but he made no move to attack even as they walked through the bars and to the entrance of the glass cell. Rumlow had to scan both his retina and fingerprints, before the door whooshed open.

"This is goodbye, Winter." Rumlow muttered and squeezed his arm; he then did something that was presumably out of procedure and kissed the shell of his ear.

Without further ado, he was pushed him into the cell, and the door shut behind him with a sense of finality. He turned to watch Rumlow return the way he had. He locked the way through the bars and tapped on a keypad on this side of the room, which made the door close with a bang.

Slowly, he pivoted on his heel and directed his attention fully onto the god in front of him. For several moments they stared at one another, before Loki made the first move. He stepped forward, almost predatorily but he didn't react as the god suspected he would. Or at least he believed so, since the sneer melted away to a secretive little smile.

"Winter," Loki repeated what Rumlow had called him. "Is that your name?"

"I have no name."

"A lover's endearment, I see."

"I have no lover." He said without any inflection.

The god only quirked his eyebrow, before something sinister spread across his face. There wasn't any way to predict what had crossed Loki's mind, but it was impossible to block. He had believed his reflexes were faster than that, but his confidence proved to be misplaced and he was shoved hard into the bulletproof glass.

Loki's hand found his throat and cut off his airway just as he had done so on the helicarrier. This time, however, he hadn't anything to stave off the attack beyond the use of his body, and the struggle he put up seemed futile. Even the use of his artificial hand did little to displace the god's grip.

"I will even the score, you sniveling mortal. Mark my words." Loki hissed between clamped teeth. "You've ruined my plans and I will not forget that!"

As his vision threatened to blacken, the grip on his throat lessened, and he was dropped into a motionless heap on the cell floor. Desperately, he gulped and drew oxygen into his lungs; although a sense of failure ripped through him, and he wondered if his weakness was why he'd been placed with the angry god.

They said he had shaped history. He had served them well. He had even successfully accomplished his mission, but it hadn't been enough. Now his part was over and HYDRA would arise from the shadows far more splendidly than they had before (or so he was told).

He urged himself onto his hands and knees, breathing heavily still. The god hovered above him, but he didn't attack which he would have done if the tables were turned. He wasn't malicious though; he was effective and efficiency was key, after all.

"I suppose this is your master's way of making amends." Loki started to pace. "I can kill you and satiate my anger, and perhaps I'll be more reasonable. Unfortunately, my brilliantly executed plans have been destroyed because of this inconvenience. But that doesn't mean they cannot be salvaged or I can't think of something else. It'll take time and time is a commodity I don't have. Not with Thanos,"

The extent of his knowledge when it came to Loki was limited. He knew he was an invaluable asset to HYDRA and possession of him could shift the tides in the right direction for them. He didn't know why the god was on Earth, and he hadn't heard any mention of an entity called Thanos either. Pierce probably had; he knew quite a bit more than most.

"You should view me as a threat to your livelihood; all mortals should." Loki paused and looked grimly ahead of him. "I could be your king and Thanos, well he would leave us be as long as I hand over what he desires."

Only half-listening to the things the god said, he rested his back against the glass and tried to recover his wits. He was unused to being hindered useless for this long. While he remembered little, he knew of his capabilities and his weaknesses; stamina was not one of them.

"Убей меня," he demanded. "Kill me,"

"That would be too simple, Winter. And you are a rather peculiar mortal." Loki knelt beside him then, before snatching up his artificial arm in a grip that kept him still. "Half machine, fearless; you would have been quite a warrior in Asgard. The bards would have written about your valiancy, but here you are no better than a lapdog. What a shame."

He furrowed his brow; a soldier hadn't any opinion the way he was used. He followed orders and he successfully completed missions. His existence was rather simple, and it would remain that way until his death; which he assumed would come about rather quickly while being left alone with the god.

Loki studied his arm for some time, before his focus drifted elsewhere. He reached for his face and held his chin in between his thumb and forefinger. They stared at one another and he discerned a frantic madness behind Loki's eyes, reminiscent to a rabid dog.

"There is an emptiness inside of you; you're obedient, altruistic and the perfect soldier. Every king needs loyalty and your master needs my help. Perhaps we can work out an arrangement, after all."

The words had an undertone to them that was vaguely familiar, although he couldn't uncover any memory in recent history that would suggest that he had experienced anything like it before. Instinctively, he knew though as if he had lived several lifetimes already.

Long spidery fingers walked up the side of his face, which caused him to clench his jaw. Rebellion and obedience were at war inside his head. He wanted nothing more than to lash out, but an inherent need to survive overtook him instead.

Death was an inevitability. He had known that all along; he had prepared himself, even asked for death, only moments ago. Now, for whatever reason, he wanted to live. As if he had some purpose left still; a purpose that had nothing to do with HYDRA and shaping the world to a uniformed utopia.

"You do not want to die." The god murmured lowly. "But you do not know how to live either. Fortunate for you, I can make you feel more alive than you ever would feel within an entire lifetime."

He neither believed nor disbelieved Loki. The only thing he was certain of was that Loki would have his way; he was powerless to stop him. He'd been left to die in this containment cell by his handlers, and his need to obey and sustain seemed so much stronger than to cause an upheaval.

Almost painfully slow, the god moved closer to him. His face was only a few centimeters away from his; too close for comfort. Loki was oddly flawless; his eyes were cat-like and his features aquiline but somehow delicate, too.

"You've known winter like I have." Loki touched his lips to his, yet it wasn't forceful and it wasn't demanding; if anything it was gentle, almost unobtrusive.

He went rigid. He knew this somehow, but he couldn't unearth any memory of it. He knew he'd been on the receiving end of tenderness before. It must have been a lifetime ago however since he couldn't force the memory to the forefront of his mind.

After a time, the touch of Loki's lips against his became more involved. The god tilted his head and covered his mouth with his own, and he urged (not so subtly) for him to respond in kind. He did respond eventually, although he was rusty and timid at best. But boldness appeared to be more of Loki's forte anyway.

The kiss turned from soft to demanding. Fingers worked their way into his freshly cleaned hair, and he was pulled hard into the contact. Loki was relentless; he kissed the breath out of him until he could take no more. He reached up and grabbed onto the opening of his leather coat, in hopes that that would be enough of an indicator that he needed to breathe.

Fortunately, he didn't have to use any force. He would have, too. Loki pulled away and grinned wolfishly at him; all sense of gentleness a distant memory. It didn't surprise him, though. Manipulation was an effective tool. Or so he had been told by someone long ago.

They stared at one another briefly, before Loki drew him back into a hard kiss. This time he implemented his tongue and teeth; he licked over his bottom lip and bit down onto it as well. He grunted and felt a wave of heat pool at the pit of his stomach. It was an alarming sensation that he didn't know how to react to, and it only grew as the god tugged on his lip.

His hands curled into fists, as if that would somehow root him into place. He felt dizzy and overheated, and his breaths came quicker as Loki traced his tongue along the seam of his lips. Automatically, he opened his mouth and was assaulted by a taste that had no name but was strong enough to become intoxicated on.

He closed his eyes and allowed his body to take control. His tongue moved of its own accord, tangling with Loki's and licking into his mouth. They were soon gasping and moaning, utterly lost in one another until they could no longer breathe. But they were reluctant to pull away and only did so when it proved absolutely necessary.

Their heavy breaths echoed in the silence of the cell, followed shortly by the whirl of movement in his artificial arm. He unclenched his hands and stared up into Loki's face, and in that moment he knew he truly was a god. Nothing had ever appealed to his sensibilities before; nothing ever seemed beautiful to him, yet Loki did currently.

"Now you marvel in my presence." Loki crooned smugly.

He didn't deny it. Why deny the truth? What would he gain from being intentionally disagreeable? That wasn't how he was trained to be. Honesty and obedience were the only things he knew, and words weren't imperative for him either.

Loki ran his thumb across his swollen lower lip, before he began to pepper his jaw and earlobe in wet kisses. His teeth scraped down the side of his neck, and he flattened his tongue over the budding bruises on his throat. All of those actions had that heat simmer in his stomach, and move southward into the apex between his thighs.

That conjured up further confusion inside of him; he was bewildered by the steady ache that stirred inside of him. He groaned and canted his hips forward in some carnal desire to find friction to no avail.

A rumble of laughter was pressed into the side of his neck. Loki found whatever witchcraft he was casting on him to be amusing. Maybe this was just another tactic to break him, to make him obedient. That seemed like the only cause for any of this.

This new level of torture continued relentlessly. He dropped his head backwards against the glass, opening himself up for further exploration by Loki's mouth, tongue, and teeth. Every inch of his neck and throat were kissed, licked, and bitten. He was helpless to stop it; in some way he didn't want it to stop.

His many defenses were thrown to the wayside, leaving him completely vulnerable. All he could do was clench and unclench his hands, and bite his tongue in hopes of quieting the noises that bubbled in his throat. But silence proved to be harder to maintain as the god's hands grazed his chest.

He only wore a thin black muscle shirt, sweats, and expertly knotted combat boots. Oftentimes (he thought anyway), he wore something similar for training purposes. He wished at that moment he had been equipped with body armor and the muzzle that adorned the bottom part of his face. At least he would have some sort of protection against this unreasonable on-slate.

"You are a peculiar but exquisite creature." Loki thumbed teasingly at his chest until his nipples hardened. "Your master must truly want my help."

Loki removed his hands, but they soon returned to pinch at his nipples. He hissed and bucked his hips wildly; only to realize moments later that his penis had started to become erect, which he couldn't recall happening before.

He understood his physiology quite well. He knew his limitations; he knew his threshold of pain, yet this was a new phenomenon altogether. This was alien and distressing and strangely good. It was torturous that he couldn't have more because that's precisely what he wanted, and he knew that he shouldn't feel that way. He shouldn't feel at all.

This felt like the ultimate form of rebellion. He was intoxicated by it, and the darkening of Loki's eyes only made him desperate for more. Which was why he had taken up the incentive and violently slammed his mouth against the god's, and drew out a throaty moan from him.

Their mouths moved in tandem as Loki's hands dropped and pulled on the hem of his shirt. He pushed it up and bunched it around his shoulders, before he broken the kiss and ripped it off his body. But their mouths found one another's again, and their tongues curled together enthusiastically.

Soon he had overcome his pliancy completely, and his hands gripped onto the god's biceps. He needed to experience every nuance of him. He needed not only to taste and smell him, but to feel and touch him like he was being touched in turn.

The simplest of touches were never extended to him. Touch involved pain and inevitably death. He was unaware that touch could lead to this sort of desperation; this kind of animal magnetism, where he wanted things that made very little sense in his mind. He wanted things that he didn't even know the names of.

They broke apart again and Loki dropped his head to plant a kiss to his chest. His lips moved deftly to the left and closed around his painfully erect nipple. He grunted in surprise, but soon was overtaken by a pleasurable sensation.

The god's tongue swirled around nipple, before he started to suck on it. The sensation shot directly into his groin, and he felt a greater need to find something to push up against and rub the ache away. He reached down with his real hand to clutch at the base of his erection, only to have his hand knocked away seconds later.

"You will not touch yourself. I'll be the one who grants you the privilege of release." Loki practically snarled, only to return to his former actions; but this time he focused on his other nipple instead.

Gritting his teeth, he grabbed onto his thighs and fought his internal urge to touch himself. He eventually spread his legs open, and Loki improvised by kneeling in between them. And that only made him far more desperate to be touched and driven damn-near mad.

Loki pulled away with a smirk, before dragging both his hands up and down his thighs. What happened next was equally unexpected and confusing to him. His skin began to tingle, as if he was under the spray of a showerhead. Then his remaining clothing disappeared in a golden shimmer, leaving him fully exposed.

"Much better," the god's eyes roved over his body greedily. "Scarred but strong,"

As if to reiterate that sentiment, Loki dragged his tongue across the seam in which flesh met metal. He curled his hand into a fist, which caused the plates in his arm to shift one by one. But that didn't seem to concern Loki; his tongue moved across the mesh of scar tissue that spread across his skin like a virus

With a final languid and wet flick of his tongue, Loki rose to his feet in all his grandeur. The golden glimmer from moments ago, soon enveloped Loki and his many layers of armor and leather had been reduced to pale skin and sinewy muscle, and a rather impressive erection in both length and girth.

There wasn't any foreplay to be had then. Loki grabbed him by the hair and pulled him into his groin. His face was pressed flush against the god's shaft; he looked up with narrowed eyes and was unsurprised by the grin that spread over Loki's face.

"I've treated you kindly now you'll do the same. Go on," the god urged with a painful tug of his hair.

For several moments, he only stared up at the god almost defiantly. However, he knew better than to go against his conditioning for very long with consequences; so he stuck out his tongue and pressed it flat to the hard flesh presented to him. That wasn't enough though, and Loki gripped his hair tighter until he dragged his tongue up the pulsing vein to the spot right below the head.

"Don't be shy," Loki ordered.

Despite not having any previous experience in things of this nature, it came to him like muscle memory. He reached up to hold Loki's shaft and wetly licked under the head. For his efforts, he earned a sigh of pleasure and that spurred him to continue. He licked farther up and delicately swiped his tongue over the head, while he began to pump the shaft.

Single-mindedly, he focused his efforts on the task at hand. He lifted himself onto his knees and ran his tongue over the slit and tasted the salty fluid that started to collect there; before he chose to wrap his lips around the head and suck.

Loki made a guttural noise and tangled his fingers in his hair, urging him to continue which he readily did. He hollowed his cheeks and shielded his teeth behind his lips, and started to bob his head an inch or two down the god's erection. He stroked the shaft still and managed to synchronize the movement to match the bob of his head.

He shut his eyes and relaxed his throat, in order to take more of the god into his mouth. Distantly, he knew he must have done this before. There wasn't any other explanation for why he knew how to do this and how he managed to tear sounds of appreciation out of Loki at the same time.

Shadowy and unformed figures danced across the back of his eyelids; specters that knew things about him that he did not. This was only one of the many unsolved mysteries about him. But he supposed it didn't really matter, not when he had a pulsating piece of flesh in his mouth that needed his attention. And it was his duty, his mission, to handle it appropriately.

Just as he sunk down to the point that the tip of Loki's erection hit the back of his throat, the hand in his hair tightened and caused his eyes to water. He was jerked back until he was pulled messily off the god. Spittle dribbled out of his mouth and left Loki glistening and wet.

"Enough," the god panted while he attempted regained his composure.

The grasp in his hair loosened, but he was soon assaulted by Loki's mouth on his. He was drawn into a bruising kiss. Loki sucked, licked, and bit his lips until his erection twitched desperately between his legs in hopes of being touched finally.

He was beginning to feel dizzy, worsened by the fact he was yanked unceremoniously onto his feet and into another kiss. While his mouth was consumed by the god's, his body was being mapped by his hands.

Every inch of his flawed skin was touched by Loki. He felt like he was being eaten alive. Loki was overbearing and everywhere. His body became the only stability that he had, and he grabbed onto his arms just to remain grounded. But even that was stripped away from him soon enough, as he was spun around and shoved violently against the glass.

His legs were kicked open, leaving him exposed to whatever Loki had in mind. Meanwhile those powerful hands grazed his shoulder blades, glided down his flanks, and eventually found purchase on his buttocks. His cheeks were cradled in Loki's palms, before his thumbs started to knead at the muscles.

"Winter," Loki breathed into his ear with a chuckle that sent a shiver down his spine.

His hips jutted forward and he pressed his throbbing erection against the glass. He groaned in relief, but it wasn't anywhere near long lasting. Abruptly, Loki grabbed him around the waist, pulling him away from the glass.

"Don't make this hard on yourself."

"Jerk," he said suddenly and he didn't know why. It was a compulsion, really.

Loki didn't take the insult graciously, as to be expected. He shoved him hard up against the glass, which knocked the air out of him and shot an aching pain through his erection. It should have been enough to end any arousal that he had had, except it wasn't. Not when Loki dropped to his knees behind him and buried his face between his cheeks.

The wet tip of the god's tongue danced over his entrance, and caused his body to tense in anticipation. Loki's subtly didn't last much longer than a few light flicks of his tongue, before he switched to licking him fervently. It was enough to make anyone's head spin, and he was no better even with his deep-rooted emotionlessness.

Innumerable moans, grunts, and groans ripped their way out of his throat. He was swept away into a world of intense pleasure as Loki worked open his entrance, and managed to push his tongue inside of him. There were small bursts of discomfort, but he found it complimented the steady build-up of his arousal.

While Loki moved his tongue inside of him, he soon introduced his finger into the mix. That brought forth a burn that temporarily stole his breath away. He gritted his teeth and furled both hands into fists and tried to take the pain as he took the pleasure. Pain was something he knew too well, after all; so he could take it. He had to take it.

Sweat trickled down his face and chest as Loki continued to work him open. Soon the god had two of his fingers inside of him, and his tongue moved to trace around the rim of his entrance. The burn still flared up with each thrust of Loki's fingers, yet it was manageable. He had had worse; somewhere in the murky depths of his mind, he knew that all too well.

"Yes," Loki grunted as he spread his fingers and then spit on his entrance.

His legs began to quake as Loki twisted his wrist, and he brushed across something inside of him that darkened his vision around the edges. Wordlessly, he opened his mouth and he pushed back against the god's fingers. Whatever that had been had motivated Loki to find it over and over again until he swore he couldn't take it anymore.

As the pressure steadily built inside of him and wracked his body, it soon dissolved to an echo of its former glory. Loki withdrew his fingers and grabbed him by the hip. He pulled him flush against his body that was damp with perspiration, too. And the fingers that had just been inside of him were unceremoniously shoved between his lips so he could taste himself.

Loki's other hand dragged down his torso, before he grabbed him by the inner thigh, and kept him in place. His erection was pushed between his cheeks, almost in anticipation for what was yet to come.

"Quite something," the god breathed hotly into his ear. "I will enjoy this immensely."

Similarly to minutes ago, he was shoved against the glass; although this time, his face was the only thing that made contact with the wall. He was bent over at the hips, presented to the god for whatever nefarious act he wanted to perform on him. Which proved to be the one he already predicted ever since they'd become physical with one another; so he hardly flinched as he felt pressure against his entrance and the inevitable stretch of penetration.

The god was anything but gentle with him. Loki urged every inch of himself inside of him, and knocked the breath right out of his lungs. He was impaled within seconds, and it took all his willpower not to make a sound of pain. It would have been a sign of weakness, and most predators tended to enjoy the sound of it.

There wasn't any hesitation on Loki's part. He started to pull out of him and then pushed back into him hard enough to jar his whole body. He slapped both his hands against the glass, but it wasn't enough to keep him stationary.

Every thrust was a punctuation mark on the god's dominance. He was nothing more than a tool for his pleasure, and any that he happened to receive was nothing more than an accident. It didn't disturb him any, though; he needed a function and this was his newest one. This was his last mission, before he would be killed.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the cell, as did their combined breaths and moans. Pain and pleasure rolled over him like a tidal wave, and his erection bobbed between his legs in desperate need to be stroked. But he left it neglected and focused on every mighty thrust he was given that made his toes curl.

His insides clenched around Loki like a pulse; desperate to keep him rooted in place. Or maybe he wanted him out; he didn't know. Because he hadn't any say in what was done to him; he was just the vessel to be used, an ends to a means.

Loki thrust into him several more times, only to pull out with an obscene noise. He looked over his shoulder and was met with a wolfish smile. There wasn't much warning than that, before the god hooked his hands behind his knees, and managed to hoist him up. Luckily, he braced himself and distributed his weight appropriately so he didn't tip head-first and bump his head into the glass.

His legs were spread wide, in order for Loki to push inside him again. He reached behind him and used his real hand to grasp onto the god's shoulder and provide him with some much needed equilibrium, which he needed once he was lifted and dropped onto Loki's erection over and over again.

The pace was relentless and the angle was much better for him. Within seconds, Loki had struck that same spot inside of him that made his body convulse. He cried out and clamped down on Loki again, almost to the point where he couldn't pull him off his shaft.

"Ah, there," Loki said with a tinge of humor to his tone.

That sealed his fate; Loki shifted him a little and dropped him, while pushing his hips upwards. Loki hit that spot dead-on, and that whitewashed any sense of awareness that he had had. He was swept away by the ripples of ecstasy that collected at the base of his spine, and exploded outward until he was flooded by them completely.

His fingernails dug into the god's shoulder, once the pace became frantic. Bursts of light flashed across his vision and his erection was leaking sloppily everywhere. He lost himself with every movement, and he was powerless to stop the noises that came out of him.

"Touch yourself," Loki demanded and he was quick to deliver.

Circling his metal fingers around his shaft, he jerked upward and back down. The pleasure was almost too much for him to handle. His sac drew up as the combination of his hand and Loki's member worked in tandem to push him into oblivion.

Loki lifted him almost entirely off his erection, and as he dropped him back down; everything came to a head. Every muscle in his body tightened and heat rushed from the top of his head to his toes, and he came with a hoarse cry. He spurted cum all over himself and only a moment or two later something wet and sticky was filling him to the brim.

"Mm," the god hummed against his ear, while still moving him up and down.

The aftershock of his climax seemed to last forever, but not long at all either. He wasn't given an opportunity to revel in it as much as he would have liked. Reality soon struck him across the face, and he was lifted off Loki and dumped into a messy heap onto the floor of the containment cell. He grunted in pain, but didn't dare do anything in retaliation.

He had been used as the god had seen fit to use him, and now the second half of his punishment would be handed down. Death would probably be a blessing if it was quick and painless. Would he be granted that sort of reprieve, though?

He lay sprawled across the floor, a broken weapon that hadn't any function anymore. Maybe he had been used far too frequently; maybe he hadn't made his handlers happy. And maybe this was final test; one he clearly failed at.

"Pity," the god said above him; the sound of footfall moved closer to him, and he warily looked up to see Loki dressed once more. But this time around, he had a wicked looking blade at his side.

Any rebellion that he might have felt beforehand was no longer applicable. He resigned himself to his fate, and in some way he welcomed it. Something inside of him was exhausted; he knew then that he had lived many lives. Too many lives that had gone on for far too long, and it was finally for every one of them to come to an end.

"Winter must come to an end so spring can begin." Loki knelt beside him, before shoving the blade in between his ribs.

There was a roar of agony that enveloped him. He cried out as the blade sank deeper, and it was twisted and ripped his flesh into tatters. Blood oozed and the stench of sex and death practically suffocated him. He was drowning and he felt a sudden swell of gratefulness. He was finally done. He was going home.

*

"So you've decided to hear me out finally."

"Reluctantly so, mind you."

"Either way I'm glad." Secretary Pierce smiled at the god. "Let's be honest here, you wouldn't want this world. It's beneath you, don't you think? I think your ambitions are higher than this. After all, what can Earth offer you?"

"You're very presumptuous."

"Not presumptuous, to be honest I'm one step ahead of you. We've intercepted Barton, Dr. Selvig already. But that's only the tip of the iceberg; we have that scepter of yours as well."

"Is that so?" Loki said in a bored tone, although Pierce saw the fury in his eyes as clear as day.

STRIKE had been able to find Barton almost too easily, especially since the team working with Loki had been dispatched to rescue the god themselves. As for the scepter, Director Fury had gladly passed it into his able hands since he was already consumed with the security breach on the helicarrier, and the mystery behind who had taken custody of Laufeyson.

"Barton sang like a bird." Pierce chuckled. "We know about this alien invasion of yours. It can and will be prevented by the hodgepodge of superheroes Nick Fury has brought together. I have faith in that. So where does that leave you?"

"That is the question."

"You don't want to rule Earth; you want to rule your own realm. And that can easily be done, so long as you have a way back there."

"The tesseract,"

"In our possession as well,"

"What is your bargain, mortal?"

"Simple, really," Pierce rested his hands on his hips. "You lead your alien army like you planned to. The Avengers, as I'm told they are being called, will defeat them and you will get the tesseract as a down payment."

"What of the scepter?"

"Protection,"

"Come again?"

"I intend on keeping it. That'll stop you from posing a threat to us again; I have a feeling it's invaluable, and well humanity isn't as stupid as you think it is. We'll figure out how to use it. In which case, you won't decide to lead another alien army to our front door out of revenge."

"What of my brother? He'll certainly stand in my way of ascending the throne."

"From the intel I've received, he is involved with a Dr. Jane Foster." Pierce shook his head sadly. "It'll be awful if she were to end up dead. Which would certainly give Thor reason to come back to Earth,"

Laufeyson bowed his head, before a chuckle shook his body. Pierce kept his distance; he knew how deadly the god was. He didn't need his scepter or the tesseract to wreak havoc; he had magic of his own, after all. He was told it was neutralized by the cuffs around his wrists, but he still chose to practice caution anyway.

"You will kill that woman? Thor will return, hence I will be able to take the throne. You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"I believe so."

"Thor will eventually return to Asgard, you blathering old fool! He'll return once he learns of my ascension to the throne!"

"Let's just say we have a plan in the making. We've been working on something called Project Insight for years now. Trust me, if your brother is on this planet when it goes into affect, he will be taken care of."

"This is all hearsay and speculation."

"It is, but the alternative is bleaker for you. You don't have the scepter or the tesseract; your network of insiders has been intercepted and they are in our custody. We could hand you over to Thor easily enough, and you could become a prisoner for the rest of your very long life." Pierce smiled wider as he allowed his words to settle in between them.

The bleakness of Laufeyson's situation had already begun to sink in; if it was any indication by the nasty snarl he received. Even if an intergalactic army was about to strike Earth, there was no way that HYDRA would stand back and allow it to happen. They had been shaping society for their eventual takeover, and they weren't about to hand it over to some god with golden horns and an alien army.

"I want something of yours."

"That's not how it works, I'm afraid."

"I want Winter."

"The Winter Soldier...you mean the man you stabbed?" Pierce asked confusedly.

"I'll agree if I can have him."

"I'll think about it."

"I don't believe you understand the gravity of your situation. Do you believe my failure will stop Thanos? He will invade your petty little planet one way or another. You would be wise to let me rule you instead; I could protect you."

"Oh, I'm fully aware of the consequences."

"I don't believe you are." Laufeyson's face darkened. "Thanos might not see the value of your planet, but humanity is more than adequate enough to be enslaved."

Pierce dropped his hands from his hips, before shaking his head. He had foreseen that the conversation would volley from one concern to the next. If anything this was an attempt by Laufeyson to steer things into his favor. But he had things under control, regardless of what the god thought.

"See," he said evenly, as if speaking to a child. "If for whatever reason this Thanos character decides to launch another attack on us, you'll be there with your army of gods to step in. You will help us because we'll still be in possession of a highly powerful artifact that, like I said before, we will learn to use. And there's no doubt in my mind we can pose a threat to you once we do harness that powerful, which you wouldn't like.

"Not to mention, I now have two things that you want; the scepter and the Winter Soldier. One is more valuable than the other, mind you. It's your choice, though."

"Kill him if you like then; the scepter is more important anyway. But you don't believe I can locate it?" Laufeyson looked angrier than before.

"Trust me you have your own problems and very little time to solve them. The invasion, for one; Dr. Selvig mentioned something about a portal being opened. And well, you should probably take your team to do just that. Unless you want to be, uh, neutralized as a threat by this Thanos,"

"And you'll allow me to open this portal? Why not just let Thor return me to Asgard?"

"Simple," Pierce chuckled. "Once the invasion has been won, humanity will look to SHIELD for protection. Terror makes people compliant, to the point where they won't notice how we've infiltrated every aspect of their lives, and chipped away at their freedoms. Isn't obvious? For a would-be king you aren't very politically savvy; you might want to work on that. That kind of ignorance could cost you the war, my friend."

Waving his hand dismissively after saying his piece, the heavily armored men that brought Laufeyson to him crowded around the god once more. He received another angry sneer for his troubles, but Laufeyson left without incident because he knew he was in between a rock and a hard place. Maybe he could weasel his way out of their agreement eventually; unfortunately it wouldn't be anytime soon, not when time was of the essence.

As his temporary office was emptied, he noticed Sitwell in the corner. He looked worry as he usually did; of course he suspected most people wouldn't be as confident as him in this situation. There was an alien invasion on the horizon, after all.

"Will you hand over the Winter Soldier to him?" Sitwell asked.

"Agent Sitwell, you never show your weaknesses to your enemy. They'll only use them against you. Haven't you learned anything yet?" Pierce tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. "Besides, I have plans for him. He's not going anywhere anytime soon. It'll take more than a god and an alien army to take him away from me. Mark my words."


End file.
